Thursday, 29 March 2012

Left 4 Dead

The infection had broken out three weeks
ago. And those with the disease had already wiped out most of the population by
either killing them or infecting them as well. Jasmine was 19 years old, small
for her age but reasonably pretty, her hair was dark brown and always tied up in
side ponytail, she always wore black and blue high tops, ripped up jeans, any
old shirt and a hoodie.

Jasmine already knew her life would be over
soon. She just prayed that she didn’t become outrageously infected like her
boyfriend, a charger. But if it ever did happen Jasmine had already thought
carefully about being infected. She wanted to be a witch, definitely a witch.
She’d never actually met one in real life but she’d seen them on TV as kamikaze
news reporters had managed to get themselves, and an entire camera crew down to
film a witch brutally attacking people. Jasmine knew it sounded terrible but if
she had any chance of surviving survivors, if she was infected, she knew she
had to be a witch.

It was Tuesday today, shopping day or
better described as pick-up-the-nearest-edible-item-and-run-home day.

Jasmine loaded her father’s shot gun and
set out with a backpack strapped onto her back like life support. She unlocked
her door and carefully stepped out onto the street; she spun around not taking
her gaze off the length of road in front of her and locked her door quietly.
She hugged the gun close to herself as she walked along the footpath. Glancing
quickly in all directions and breathing slowly and steadily she walked on.

The shopping centre was only a block away
but it felt like crossing the empty quiet street was like tip toeing across a
mine field. Even tripping over a can could alert a nearby infected. And it just
so happened that today was her lucky day. As she sped across the road a stick
had conveniently placed itself under her foot. The crunch it made made Jasmine
jump in shock resulting in her foot coming down on it again in a loud snapping
sound. Jasmine froze. Her hands shook violently as she held the gun out in
front of her. Her senses on full alert as a low squealing sound started coming
from around the corner. Her mind raced but she couldn’t bring herself to run
and hide. She glanced at the corner and the squealing grew louder every second.
She slowly put her finger on the trigger of the gun and braced herself for the
attack.

As the monster stepped around the edge of
the building Jasmine gasped. A spitter stood side on to her rocking from side
to side with its hands clenching and unclenching. It long neck swivelled from
side to side and its beady eyes gazed around creepily. Jasmine inched towards a
small back alley that was the shortcut to the shopping centre, she had never
shot anything before, she’d never had to, and now the situation had appeared
Jasmine couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.

Jasmine thought she was moving almost
silently but the spitter spun around and looked at her squealing mercilessly,
it seemed to contemplate whether or not she was a zombie as well and Jasmine
gulped nervously as it started waddling forward, drooling green acid out of
it’s mouth, eventually braking into a clumsy sprint, it’s hands out stretched
and it’s eyes focused on Jasmine.

Jasmine screamed and ran down the alley,
gun still in hand, all that mattered to her was surviving, her footsteps echoed
almost too loudly and Jasmine just screamed, she screamed and screamed and
screamed as loudly as she could without even thinking.

All around her gates rattled and trees and
bushes shook, shadowy figures seemed to stir in the dark “abandoned” homes and
as Jasmine screamed other screams joined hers. Infected poured out of the
sewerage drains they climbed over fences like spiders and vaulted off the top
of apartment balconies. And all the while the spitter easily kept pace with the
screaming Jasmine.

The infected ran towards Jasmine from all
directions overtaking the spitter and flailing their arms in the air manically.
“Help! Please! Someone help me!” Jasmine screamed speeding up her pace hearing
the approaching footsteps, “Please!” Tears began to form in her eyes obscuring
her vision, and with great effort she managed to bring her hand to her face to
wipe the tears away. Part of her wanted to just drop dead then and there, why
hadn’t she yet? Because she was one of those unlucky people that got stuck with
the gene that made them immune to the disease, at least, that’s what she
guessed.

She sobbed suddenly and forced the thought
out of her head and made herself focus. As the supermarket came into view
Jasmine used up the last of her energy to get to the door, because the front
sliding doors had been broken for months Jasmine was forced to always use the
back door which today seemed much further away than usual. A flash of green
appeared right near Jasmine’s head and she let out another ear piercing
screech, a hand, it had to have been, or a head, the infected seemed to be
becoming more creative with their killing techniques as of recently. She
lurched towards the door and dove through it just as it opened, she slammed it
shut and leaned against it pushing it back as hard as she could, the screaming and
banging ended in a few minutes but Jasmine still rested against the now
destroyed door, it’s hinges creaked as she stood up and let out a sigh, her gun
now rested in front of her with the backpack sitting next to it.

She slumped down and rubbed the back of her
neck sighing. “I’m just not cut out for this surviving thing,” she said
sullenly, “maybe I should just get myself bitten or scratched,” she thought
about that quickly and added, “somehow…” But she knew that was impossible, once
an infected started they didn’t finish until the job was done. The job being
cruel, gruesome and sometimes sudden death.

She slowly stood up stretched and went
along doing her shopping, checking the use by dates of everything and carefully
avoiding the mouldy fruit at the front of the store and the boomer stuffing its
face full in the confectionary aisle. Jasmine laughed silently to herself as
she walked past him spying his fat ugly face as he looked back at her. She
waved at him politely, he frowned at her but waved back anyway, he was an odd
one, had appeared in the aisle a few weeks ago and hadn’t left since, when
Jasmine first saw him she jumped back around the corner and stuck her gun out
to face him. She heard footsteps approach her and the gun seemed to be pulled
from the other end she stepped out a began laughing as the boomer tried to chew
the end of her gun as though it were a piece of toffee.

Jasmine smiled but soon returned back to the
gloomy present and headed towards the fridges on the other end of the store
with a semi-permanent scowl on her face. As she approached them she tapped her
chin thoughtfully, the fridges didn’t just hold ice cream and frozen peas, she
put fruit, vegetables, bread, and butter anything that would keep for longer if
frozen in there.

She got everything she needed and
thoughtfully picked up an apple. She tossed it in her hand as she walked back
to the door she came through; as she went past she threw it into the
confectionary aisle hitting the boomers head with it. He made an almost
human-like gesture as he saw it bending down and eyeing it suspiciously.
Jasmine heard him take a bite of it on her way out and giggled as he made a disgusted
sound and the apple landed on the ground with a splat. She couldn’t believe
that not ten minutes ago she had almost been killed by a spitter and a horde of
infected.

She left the store on a higher note,
slinging her backpack over her shoulder and holstering her gun beneath it.
Jasmine peeked around the corner of the store quickly, checking to see if the
spitter or any of the infected had decided to hang around. She breathed a sigh
of relief, stepping around the corner casually and making her way home.

Can you draw my OC after you do Sparky's?Here it is anyway:Name: Nixion StrangeAge: 14, almost 15Magic: Adept Adept Ability/s: Bone Breaking – TesseractGender: MaleAppearance: Nixion is thin, just taller than the average 14 year old with brown eyes that carry a dark tormented look in them. He wears a protective jacket on special occasions, but most of the time, Nixion just wears black leather jacket, black jeans and a t- shirt. Black boots cover his feet and he carries a machete with him at all times.Personality: Nixion Strange is very prone to mood swings. They can vary from becoming suddenly violent to being lost in thought to a cheerful teen. In a fight, Nixion can get overly violent and take it too far, sometimes accidentally injuring himself and his allies if in a rage which will occasionally allow him to lose control.History: At the age of ten, Nixion was kidnapped by a Sorcerer criminal and was forcibly taught the Bone Breaking Adept discipline. This was done with an insane combination of brainwashing and extreme torture upon Nixion which eventually changed something in his mind, thus creating his sudden mood swings. Finally, at 11, Nixion was abruptly released with no warning whatsoever. For a while, he lost himself to insanity and killed heaps of people (so he is quite often hated by most)To this day Nixion attempts to fight the brainwashing done on him which also explains his over-the-top violence at times. A year after he was released, Nixion Strange was saved by Zathract Mist from a horde of zombies and the two kind of latched on to each other. It isn’t safe to say they are friends at all, but they are allies but also seem to be arguing constantly over almost everything.Nixion Strange lives in Australia and helps Zathract Mist on cases for the Australian Sanctuary.